Tales of the Arda Series
by Thalion Estel
Summary: Join a small crowd of hobbits who have surrounded a living legend to hear tales of the Arda Series, particularly those events which changed the course of the world. A lighthearted one shot with a new take on the events of the Lord of the Rings.


**Look! I actually managed to write a story! I've had the idea for this one in my head for literally three or four years; it's good to finally have it finished. Hope you enjoy!**

…

Dedicated to my Lord-of-the-Rings-loving theology professor and his baseball-loving wife, two of my dearest friends.

…

The place was known as Pelennor Field. It was big enough to accommodate many thousands of spectators, and on this day, all of that space was necessary. People from all over Middle-earth were gathered there, enjoying the benefits the peace that had now ruled over the world for more than a few years. Among those who had traveled far were several thousand hobbits, a people who are unwilling to leave their home for almost any reason. This was one of the rare exceptions.

This throng was now in their designated seating, eagerly awaiting the event which had demanded their presence. The excitement was almost a palpable feeling resonating through the air, and the younger hobbits found it difficult to keep still at all. As expected, many rambunctious little ones ended up congregating around someone who might be able to ease their tension in the remaining minutes of waiting.

"Tell us the Arda Series stories about Mr. Frodo!" cried a small hobbit as she scrambled through the small crowd that surrounded the mayor of Hobbiton. The other young hobbits soon took up the same chant, and the mayor—a middle-aged hobbit who was never one to pass up the opportunity to tell a tale—gave them a warm smile.

Normally the mayor did not like to be the center of attention; he was of a very humble disposition. But at this time of year, his own history always meant that he would be hounded for stories concerning his part in the Series of years past—and even those which took place long before his time. And given the gravity of those events in which he had participated, he felt it was his happy duty to rehearse the deeds to the new generations of hobbits.

"Well, now," he began once the ruckus had settled to a reasonable volume. "Let me see; where should I start? I reckon the best place to begin would be the year 1419 according to our Shire Reckoning. The two teams in question were the Mordor Rabble and the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, and their respective ballparks were the Field of Cormallen and the Plain of Gorgoroth."

The young hobbits felt that at these words, they were momentarily transported to the setting that the mayor was describing. They closed their eyes and tried hard to imagine the descriptions of the speaker coming to life before them.

"The former was a grand stadium, one that people from miles around would travel to just to witness its grandeur. It echoed the glorious victories of old, and it stood in defiance of the growing dominance of the Mordor Rabble. Their home field was a foul place, one that no hobbit had even dared to enter before."

"What about the other teams?" inquired one impertinent hobbit before he was quickly silenced by the protests of the others. Still, the mayor did not ignore the question.

"Back in those days," the hobbit explained, "the Middle-earth League of Baseball did not have any really competitive teams aside from those two. Anyone who refused to join either side played in lesser independent leagues. Thus each Arda Series was that much more important—it was always everyone's battle.

"But as I was saying, the year was 1419 (which men and elves refer to as 3019, but that's another tale altogether). The infamous owner and manager Sauron Gorthaur had led his team to victory after victory throughout the entire season. It seemed that there was no weakness at all which could be exploited; even the best players in the league looked like amateurs when playing his team. The Free Peoples knew that they would need special players if they wanted to win the Series, so Elrond, who worked in the front office, devised a very interesting strategy.

"He believed that neither a strong bat nor a great arm would carry his team very far. There was as much hope of the quest being achieved by the weak as by the strong. 'Such is oft the course of deeds that win the Series of the world,' he said then: 'small hands win them because they must while the talents of the great are elsewhere.'" The hobbit sighed with nostalgia while the young ones cocked their heads a bit. The mayor then took in a big breath and grinned at his audience. "And that's why the Free Peoples signed me and Mr. Frodo!"

There were several cries of glee, and even a few chants of Frodo's name. Despite his time in the MLB being many years past, his baseball card was still a best-seller in the Shire, and many of the current spectators from the Shire were wearing his jersey. Of course most people remembered that the mayor had also played at his side, and he did have many fans (especially among Breelanders given that he had hit Bill Ferny in the face with a pitch). But his fame was not nearly that of the legendary Mr. Frodo, and he was content to have it that way.

"Weren't you scared to be a part of a team that had to face Mordor?" inquired one curious listener. The mayor nodded gravely.

"It was a very frightening adventure, make no mistake. But even though we may have wished at times that we were not playing in such a difficult Series, we knew that everyone who had ever been in such a predicament felt just the same. All we could decide was how to play in the game that was given to us."

The audience marveled in silence, waiting for the story to continue. The mayor let the suspense be drawn out just a little bit longer before diving headlong into the tale. "No one believed that we could win. Even our team captain, Gandalf, knew that victory was only a fool's hope. But we all went in with the determination to play as hard as we possibly could. There may have been disagreement about strategy, but in the end, we all banded together and walked onto the field for Game 1 with our heads held high.

"It was quite a Series, let me tell you," the mayor exclaimed suddenly, chuckling to himself and slapping his knee. "Each inning had its moment where it looked like the Mordor players would finish us off, but somehow we made it through. There were losses, of course. Boromir had his career cut short when the opposing Uruk-hai pitcher hit him with several pitches in a single at bat."

"How did that happen?" demanded a young hobbit, shaking his head in disgust at the aforementioned atrocity. "I thought you got to go to first base after being hit once!"

"Aye," the mayor answered sadly. "Unfortunately the rules didn't always seem to apply to the Mordor Rabble. We all knew that for years their players were flagrantly making PED violations, but it took millennia for the league to finally suspend the franchise."

"PED?" asked several young voices who were too naïve to know the darker side of sports.

"People-Eating Disqualification," the mayor explained. "Just ask the Master of Buckland or the Thain of the Shire; they had first-hand experience with the dreadfully dangerous carnivorous habits of the foul folk of Mordor."

Many of the listeners turned their attention briefly toward the field, trying to espy either of the hobbits the mayor had mentioned. They were both on the roster of the current Series, but no one was sure whether they were still out warming up or had retreated to their dugout. The mayor felt no need to let the hiatus in his story linger, and he cleared his throat to draw the hobbits' attention back to his tale.

"The Free Peoples endured despite their losses. Players from the bench stepped up and provided unexpected help to get us out of bases-loaded jams or to drive in those two-out runs. We considered every at bat as life and death, and in some sense each one was. At last, it came down to Game 7, and the odds could not have been more greatly stacked against us. I don't believe Sauron had much of any fear of us winning at all, though he did seem concerned when he realized our cleanup hitter, Aragorn, was actually heir to the Silver Slugger award. The Dark Lord focused all his team's energy on striking out Aragorn; he seemed to have forgotten all about our Mr. Frodo."

Again, cheers from the audience erupted at the hero's name. The mayor smiled and nodded his head to encourage the praise, knowing more than anyone how well-deserved it was. "Yes, that Sauron took no account to the strength of a hobbit! And thus it was that, with the game tied in the bottom of the ninth, the fact that Frodo drew a walk was not in and of itself much of a stress. But Aragorn was the next batter, and Sauron wanted to ensure that he was the final out recorded in the game. Aragorn knew full well that his own strength could not defeat the might of the opposing pitcher, but he trusted in the good providence of Eru and gave the best swing his limbs could muster!"

The hobbits gasped as they imagined the bat connecting with the ball, clinging to every word of the mayor as his story came to its climax. "The sound of the hit was enough to startle dragons living in mountains a thousand leagues away from the ballpark! But, as expected, it looked that it would fall short. It flew through the air to the outfield where the right fielder, Gollum—that Stinker!—was waiting to catch it a few yards from the wall. Frodo knew he had to run hard anyway, hoping beyond hope for a miracle. And that's when it happened."

"What?!" gasped one or two of the younger hobbits who had somehow never heard the story before. Their hands were balled into tight fists, and their eyes were wide with expectation.

"Gollum had the ball fall into his glove, but just before he had secured it firmly, while he was already jumping for joy, he tripped and fell backwards. The ball tumbled out of his glove and rolled away, and before any of the Mordor Rabble could try to overcome the error, Frodo slid across home plate to score the winning run."

Just as the mayor finished his sentence and right before the normal shouts of glee that always followed the triumphant ending of the story, a loud voice emanated through the field, causing everyone to turn their attention away for a moment. An announcer was calling the audience to prepare themselves for the ceremonial singing of _Elbereth Gilthoniel_, and all the hobbits quickly dispersed to their respective seating. The weight of the current Series settled again on everyone's shoulders, and the story of the past was momentarily forgotten.

But the mayor was not saddened. He grinned to himself and began to make his way to his designated position on the field. As he walked, he wondered briefly if Frodo was watching this game or if he was still playing for his independent league team, the Valinor Deathless. In whichever case, the heroic hobbit had made all this glory possible; his love for the game, though it did cost him a severe hand injury during his fateful slide into home, had saved the sport for generations to come.

The mayor had reached the predetermined location near the home team's dugout just as Lindir began singing _Elbereth Gilthoniel_ in his beautiful elven voice. All the stands were silent in reverent awe of the wonderful melody, but just as the elf sang out the last few notes, five great eagles flew in formation over the ballpark, causing the entire field to erupt in cheers and applause. Another Series was about to start—another piece of history was about to be added to the books, and they were all there to witness it.

But the mayor could not dwell on the thought any longer; his attention was again taken as the announcer began to introduce the game. "We extend a hearty welcome to all who have traveled far to support their team here today. That goes for those of you who bind yourselves to the visiting Breeland Brewers and their new manager Barliman Butterbur…" his voice died away as the visiting fans screamed their support at the tops of their lungs. "And it also applies to the fans of our wonderful home team, the Dúnedain Rangers!" The crowd's reaction to the latter declaration was nearly deafening, and the announcer had to wait several seconds before he could continue.

"But no matter who holds your allegiance today, I'm sure you can all join us in thanking the great pitcher Samwise Gamgee for his inauguration of today's game." Both sets of fans cheered together, and Sam stepped further out onto the field, waving to the crowds and smiling brightly. "So, Mr. Gamgee. Do you have any words for us today?"

The mayor's grin grew even brighter, and he cleared his throat and summoned all the volume his small hobbit frame could muster. "Play ball!"

…

**I had hoped to post this in time for the World Series, but then I got side-tracked actually watching the games. It was a great Series, after all. Hopefully next year it will actually feature the best team in baseball. ;)**

**Not sure when I'll be posting again; I've been doing a lot of work in my original fiction novels lately. But my muse has been slowly coming back to life after years of being dormant, so who knows? Thanks so much for reading!**


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